


Perish Twice

by mukur0



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Cannibalism, Dissociation, Eroguro, Gore, Gore Extravaganza, Hard vore, M/M, Mindfuck, Oral Sex, Penetration, Psychological Horror, Supernatural Mutism, Surreal, Vore, woundfucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 03:03:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20789537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mukur0/pseuds/mukur0
Summary: Who ever made the distinction between the divine and the profane? Even celestial, the holy have teeth.





	Perish Twice

**Author's Note:**

> Some say the world will end in fire,  
Some say in ice.  
From what I’ve tasted of desire  
I hold with those who favor fire.  
But if it had to perish twice,  
I think I know enough of hate  
To say that for destruction ice  
Is also great  
And would suffice.

**Perish Twice**

When now began, he isn’t sure, but now is all there’s ever been. 

Every follicle of hair stings, pulled into swaths of pain that flares shapeless and hot white across his scalp, raising lava at the pit of his stomach. Breath leaves him in a burst, punched out of his chest, and is drawn out onto lips that swallow it away. 

Somehow in the back of his mind he has the impression of words whose meanings he can’t quite grasp. He doesn’t need words; the heat says everything. It’s the burn of a body pressed to his, a mouth blazing and open against his throat as if it would suck the soul out through his skin. And his  _ skin, _ that’s on fire, nerves bursting into existence with every synapse come to life. 

But nothing is like the blaze of those eyes when they bore into his. Fuck whiskey, he has eyes the colour of crack cocaine ready for a vein, and the white flash of his teeth is nothing to the way his eyes quirk at the corners and hold him in place. No metal on earth could restrain him like the spark in Gabriel’s gaze while he presses lower, caressing scars large and small with lips that might as well be made of marble. Everything about him is only half a mimicry of humanity, and every touch is a scalding reminder of the cosmos condensed into that body. 

“Sam,” he sings against a rib, and he gives a rumble that rolls through Sam like a tremor, “Sam, my Sam.” He can’t remember when he became Gabriel’s Sam, but he can’t remember much of anything while that tongue draws him to life as if he’s rising from the dead all over again.

The kiss of an archangel is more than touch; it is light and fire, and surely the creation of the universe is what is playing out in the colours bursting before his eyes. He feels he could fall into Gabriel’s mouth and sink into a tiny shape in the vastness of divinity that this celestial creature must be. He almost feels he could grasp the sheer incomprehensibility between his teeth. 

So he bites down, suckles the smoothness of the tongue of the divine, laps at it the way it laps at him, and enjoys the way the corners of its owner’s eyes crinkle and their lips crash together. There is no give to an archangel’s flesh, only the unyielding scorch of a dozen tiny suns against Sam’s very malleable body. He has no sensation except for Gabriel, sees nothing, feels nothing, tastes nothing but the honey burst of stardust. Surely he never will have any of these things again.

Stone has never been so nimble as this. Fingers dance over his skin, leaving trails of heat across his chest, over his stomach; they dig into him, savour the give of him, press bone and flesh through what has to be a pathetic layer of protection. He can only offer each and every inch, breathless under his strokes. Gabriel’s tongue twirls reverently over his throat in ways that make his pulse thrum a dizzying beat and his vision twist with vertigo. Surely those hands are sin, scorching the core of him between his thighs. 

“My Sam,” he whispers, and Sam isn’t sure if he’s saying it again or this is the first time, “my beautiful Sam, so soft and sweet.” For once he can’t find it in him to object. The praise warms him more deeply than even fingers have touched, and suddenly he’s buoyant in a way he’s never been before. He isn’t sure whose lips are worshiping now, but his thighs are tight around Gabriel’s hips and divine fingers are choking him with caresses so tender he’s going to fall into pieces. “That’s right, baby,” Gabriel purrs, all velvet and adoration, into one burning ear. He undulates with Sam, bodies pressed together hard, only a hand between them. “Let me have all of you, beautiful.” 

A spring snaps. Gabriel’s kisses seek to steal his breath but he has nothing to give, fingers seeking, then grasping, nails breaking against rigid flesh, body surging under his touches until he wonders briefly if he’s seizing. But Gabriel is praising him again, is kissing his cheek, and his chin, and the corner of his mouth, murmuring about how good he is and how much Gabriel is enthralled by him, how there is nothing he wouldn’t do for him, drawing out orgasm after orgasm on his fingers while he kisses blazing trails of pleasure down his stomach. 

“You could bring the world to its knees, Sam,” he breathes against his collarbone, against his nipples, against his breast. “You are the most incredible of my Father’s creations, Sam.”

_ Why? _ he wants to ask, but there’s no voice on his tongue, and perhaps there never was. He isn’t sure why divinity would sully itself with a thing so dirty as him, but here it is and he can’t begin to question it faced with the blazing shock of excitement that is Gabriel’s lust searing his thigh. He has never wanted anything so fervently as he wants everything that Gabriel has for him.

Sam is a feather under the strength of such a thing, and Gabriel lifts him like one, raises his hips and leans in. His eyes have never been as magnetic, as aflame, as they are from between Sam’s thighs.

If he’s screaming he can’t hear it, shuddering and writhing under the kisses of a burning sun forced whole into his ribcage. Hands made of steel hold his hips still, raised to questing lips, and the archangel lathes his tongue into him with the relish of a starving creature taking its time to savour the feast laid out before it. Sam’s fingers search for purchase in his hair and finally, in an eternity of madness, his arms surrender to lie limp at either side of his head. He is devoured. 

If it’s minutes or hours he isn’t sure, quaking in Gabriel’s hands, screaming silently between great gasps, almost unaware of hot tears trailing into his hair. He can only squirm with each orgasm on Gabriel’s tongue, sucked into a daze with each shattering climax and flick of those lips. 

“Do you know what it is to be mine, Sam?” he asks as he lowers shuddering thighs to his hips and draws a limp body into him, face buried into skin that lights under his touch. “To have surrendered yourself to me?”

The careless shake of his head, muscles hardly under his control, earns a toothy grin and a long, bruising kiss by a merciless mouth. 

Gabriel pushes against him in a spark of fever and there is nothing but fire growing, blazing into him, scorching him from the inside out, and the first thrust has him undone. He is  _ fucked, _ he is splayed, he is consumed and holiness sups from the carnage, takes its pleasure from him with gusto. “Mine,” Gabriel whispers against his neck. The very touch of his breath pushes into his flesh, seeking to open him up and touch the most intimate parts of his flesh. “You are beautiful in deference,” and he is so much more than human his voice sings in Sam’s ears, “exquisite in submission, my dear, precious Sam. The perfect sacrifice for me.”

He can’t understand any more words, be they English or Enochian, surrounding him as tightly as Gabriel’s hands encircle his wrists. Sam drowns in fire, unable to ask what he means by sacrifice, or why his kisses are beginning to hurt and his tongue tastes of iron, or most of all why he so adores it.

Gabriel surges with him, a blur of euphoria and a flash of teeth. Sam doesn’t want to stop kissing him, sucking his own sweat off of Gabriel’s tongue, breathing in gasps of amber and metal that smell just like he tastes and make his stomach curl between the bliss. An archangel reeks of blood.

He’s helpless but to grasp at immovable shoulders and crush himself against that inferno, watching in a haze as the holy of holies breaches his last wall, and it’s new and beautiful pain as teeth are stained red digging into his sternum and, with a great wet suck, tear his skin from his flesh. Something niggles at the back of his mind as Gabriel follows the trail of a blood vessel along the wet shred of stolen skin with his tongue, new blood welling up in the wound to hide the fat and tendons he’d momentarily exposed, pooling at his collarbones. He didn’t know he would be so beautiful inside.

With a great groan Gabriel thrusts his tongue into the opening he’s created, flesh giving way for him; a shift to the right and he’s licking a long drag against Sam’s breastbone with undisguised delight. It’s agonising, and everything is euphoria. Sam can’t make a sound, he’s barely figured now that there’s no voice to use, and he wonders if maybe Gabriel ate that first. 

The fire has changed, all-consuming and every bit as addictive. He isn’t sure why he loves the way that his own meat tastes when Gabriel kisses him again, or why he could come at the way Gabriel’s fingers fuck the cavity in his chest and he revels in licking them clean. “Perfect,” whispers the cosmos again in rhythm with the rest of their bodies, but this time the huskiness sounds remarkably like a growl and his eyes glow with the hunger of nebulae, and it’s the most sensual thing that Sam has ever experienced. “I never thought that there was something worth what you and your brother asked of me, Sam, but  _ you…” _

The archangel lowers his mouth back to the wound and bites down, cleanly tearing away a chunk of flesh, severing veins and muscle and a thin layer of fat that he savours in his mouth, takes his time chewing with the tiny pops of glands bursting between his teeth. He can’t separate the sounds of himself in Gabriel’s mouth and Gabriel’s body inside his. All he knows is they’re wet, and they’re heavy, and they dig themselves deep into his ears to settle somewhere in the back of his throat where his voice should be. He draws his knees up higher, ankles locked at the base of a back he tries to pull forward but can’t goad an inch. He’s falling apart at the seams.

His ears ring with the pounding of his heart, blood welling up to be caught by an agile tongue and sucked directly from his veins. Teeth again, plunging into his body in time with his cock, and Sam can’t keep himself from coming again, reveling in the feeling of hot breath in a place never meant for air. This time Gabriel peels back a long tab of skin, tearing it out of his chest, to uncover bare, bloody tissue. He licks a loving line up the length of Sam’s sternum, nibbling at gristle and transparent fascia that shifts beneath his tongue. 

Like peeling a fruit he lifts the skin, flaying it entirely from Sam’s body with a final tear, and looks Sam in the eye as he sucks the fat from one side. He shreds it between his teeth, pulling every drop of fluid from it before he swallows. Nothing has ever been so erotic. 

All Sam can smell now is blood and sex; even the scent of the archangel is drowned beneath it. “You,” Gabriel finally continues, lapping at his new find, nuzzling into the thin dermis between his lips and bone, “my Sam, the only thing you could have offered me that would be worth giving up two hundred thousand fucking years of safety.” 

What does that mean? Is he going to help them?  _ Help them what, _ he has to wonder--there’s nothing to him but this, he can’t remember what Gabriel is talking about, he doesn’t want to remember a thing. He only pulls Gabriel’s hair, urging him close again, and with a laugh the creature complies and kisses Sam back into thoughtless euphoria with the taste of human flesh on his lips. 

There’s a rhythm to it now, the way he whispers  _ Sam, Sam, Sam  _ so reverently as they surge together and he gores Sam open with his teeth. There’s no difference between pleasure and pain. He’s a man full of holes, but that is all he’s ever been, and Gabriel has discovered how to make his body reflect it. He is beautiful, and he is delicious, and he grins at the sight of his stomach lifted from the cavern of his flayed abdomen, muscles pushed aside to make way for fingers that rebuild him into more than he has ever been. Fleshy cords hang from the organ and are torn away to be consumed.

Gabriel bites into it, blood and bile spilling over his fingers to drip back into Sam, where it will no doubt be found again, and he licks his lips with a soft moan. His tongue plays over a thin layer of bulbous fat and veined tissue that folds in his fingers and is neatly popped into his mouth like so much slimy confectionery. 

With a slow surge he pulls himself from where their bodies are connected, tucking his still-erect prick against the skin under Sam’s navel, trailing cum over blood and leaving Sam shaking and cold. He quakes, wriggles as if he can find a position that will relieve the gaping emptiness sopping wet between his legs, and reaches again for the twinkle-eyed archangel whose hands cage his head. “It’s okay, baby,” it croons, “you’re never going to be apart from me again.”

He isn’t sure how he’s still alive, but he gasps delight when Gabriel uses his fingers to rip a hole into muscle and the fleshy white curtain of tissue wrapped inside his gut. His eyes roll back as blood wells to welcome divine cock into the embrace of soft intestines, leaving him shuddering at the wet suck of it driving its way deeper into his gut. The head nudges against his spine and finds a home against the curve of two spinal discs to return with every stroke, striking nerves along its way. Around his shaft the organs pulse and shift, sucking at him as strongly as anything between Sam’s thighs. 

White bursts have overtaken Sam’s vision, now lost to the sparks up his spine, the way his thighs flinch and twinge under the plucking of his nerve roots. It’s nothing like the times that he’s died, not the enveloping cold or the draining thought; his blood rushes, he laughs noiselessly, he rides a wave of ecstasy while Gabriel wraps his finger around a cord of abdominal muscle and rips it free. It tastes like chocolate when they kiss around it and it plays so pleasantly on his tongue, smooth, savoury, as addictive as the archangel above him. Has he always been so luscious? 

Shivering, Gabriel pulls them apart again with a passing regret but a hungry gleam in his eye as he fists his cock and comes in Sam deeper than he’s ever done before, murmuring pleasure and pressing the head of his cock into Sam’s intestines to milk himself out. It’s rising to mind, somewhere in the back behind his body writhing and the tremulous way his organs pump and move inside the cavity of his belly, that he shouldn’t be alive. This overwhelming, blazing euphoria is beginning to feel more like pain, and somehow he doesn’t think it was ever anything else. His body shakes and sweats but continues to move as if compelled, and he can almost wonder if he’s possessed when he pushes Gabriel onto his back and straddles him.

With a soundless cry and a dizzy smile that can’t be anything but bliss he guides Gabriel back between his legs, taking him in one long plunge. Gabriel tilts his head back and takes hold of his hips, yelling something wordless and elated, teeth gritted as he meets thrust for thrust, and the echo of skin on skin is only overwhelmed by the sound of slick.

He doesn’t know why he’s doing it, and he doesn’t know why it sends tears sliding down his cheeks, but he raises quaking hands to the wound in the center of his chest and digs his fingers into the veiny fascia over his breastbone and tears it wide, separating skin and tissue like a button-down shirt. He exposes himself as if stripping his clothes, shaking at the intimacy, at the way he so craves the way that his lover looks admiringly up at him, the nervous excitement at knowing he’s inviting those eyes to devour him as surely as that mouth is going to. 

His muscles flex over his ribs, tendons straining around the bone, and he has to watch in awe at how much movement there is within his own body that he’s never been aware of. Gabriel’s fingers stroke and bruise his hips in turn, the archangel watching enraptured as Sam delicately searches the grooves of his pectoral muscle where a tendon connects it to his breastbone and clavicle. A tiny push and the last holding bit of skin breaks until he’s splayed open from the base of his throat to just below his navel--he thinks he might be able to see his own viscera bulge every time they slam together but it might be his intestines’ natural writhing, and the way that makes his blood sing is too good for words. 

There’s no relief from the way Gabriel fucks up into him, purring and cooing his bliss as he raises himself to lap at the newly exposed meat atop Sam’s ribcage. “Oh, Sam,” he groans, voice gone husky and eyes too bright, “ _ oh,  _ Sam, you’ve ruined me.” And he sinks his teeth into a muscle that shudders and snaps, loose end drawing up towards Sam’s shoulder to hang useless and bloody. His arm shakes and falls an inch without it, so he rests his bicep instead on Gabriel’s shoulder and focuses on the tongue lathing blood off of his ribs.

Is there really a difference between agony and euphoria, come down to it? He can’t remember. This has to be holy, the way that an archangel is consuming him bit by bit, one mass of elation. This has to be worship. This has to be sacrosanct. As Gabriel throws him down again and fucks his mouth with his tongue, he thinks, surely this is religion.

“No matter how many times we kiss your mouth always tastes like coffee,” his god snickers, licking their lips, nipping his. His body undulates sweetly, lean and incomprehensibly strong, comfortable where it belongs between Sam’s legs. “You’re the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten, Sam.” A hiss, a groan, hips moving faster. “I’ve never taken anything so slow but I don’t ever want to stop.”

What was that in his voice that made the hair on the back of Sam’s neck stand so tall? The hoarse gravel tone beneath his words, the vibration deep in his throat, the way his lips sneer every word. He is a predator with teeth pressed to a warm throat, excited, aroused, starving to dig in. Sam shudders again, but he’s not sure why. Maybe it’s the way that Gabriel presses his tongue deep into his mouth, traces the hard palate and its lines, steals his breath with a brush against a sensitive stripe beneath his teeth. 

There’s fluid pooling beneath him, a mix of both of their come cooling against the curve of his ass, but he can’t bring himself to mind. How many times has he reached orgasm since they started? When did they start? The archangel shifts onto his knees, leaning back on his feet, pulling Sam with him so his hips sit on Gabriel’s lap and he feels like he’s hanging from their connection, gasping with each thrust into him. 

Gabriel’s fingers explore the crevices of his chest, turning shreds of fascia between his fingertips and testing the give of his cartilage. It’s with reluctance that he breaks their kiss, saliva hanging heavy off his lip as he grins down at Sam’s daze, but it’s with exuberance that he slides down Sam’s gulping throat and slips his tongue into the hollow place above his collarbone, tracing lower and finding the broken place he’s made before. He makes an appreciative sound as he bites a piece out of a nearby muscle and Sam’s arm goes a little more limp, hand twitching. 

Somehow it isn’t terrifying. It should be, he knows he shouldn’t really like this. Something is unusual about the fact that he’s lovingly memorising the shape of Gabriel’s teeth with each bite deeper; it isn’t quite right that Gabriel’s tongue plunging between his ribs raises in him the same revelry that it did drawing orgasm after orgasm out of the space between his thighs, but it does and he shudders and shakes and howls pleasure in silence. 

The first rib breaks beneath a pressing hand, cracking entirely out of its encasement to fall free into his chest. The archangel lifts it to his lips and suckles the bits of tendon off of its sides, teeth scraping against bone. His tongue twirls about the ends while he sucks the marrow from it and casts the empty husk aside like so much trash. If he lifts his head Sam can see his heart pounding in the hole it’s made, racing horrified elation, and Gabriel eyes it like a glutton but leaves it for later.

“You’re a dream,” he murmurs, head tilted back, eyes closed, his face a twist of obscene rapture. “Beautiful.  _ Succulent. _ I’m never going to be able to go back to candy, every time I touch it I’m going to remember what it was like to take Sam Winchester apart. Oh, Sam, darling--”

He breaks off with a gasp, braced on Sam’s shoulders, shivering his way through an orgasm that steals whatever he was going to say, and no matter how feverish he gets Sam can still feel how hot he burns spilling into him. There’s no oxygen to be had, he’s suffocating on his own breathlessness, pressed tight by a body that has to have the weight of the cosmos behind it. He whimpers into a demanding kiss, rubs their tongues together in a desperate bid for air that Gabriel breathes into his lips. 

At the edges of his vision creep shadows, and at the forefront bloom more great explosions of light, and somehow Gabriel is as clear as day through them as he slides his lips lower and bends a long, slender leg up to Sam’s chest. Blood and fluids mixes on his thigh but it’s his ankle that Gabriel kisses, deep, suckling kisses that bring bruises to the surface of its skin and softens the flesh for the inevitable bite. 

There’s not enough control in his arms left to hold the thing that’s devouring him and his arms fall around his head, fingers grasping at his hair for something to squeeze. His hips roll, seizing at the--pain? Pleasure? It’s pure, unadulterated annihilation; it’s electricity, fire, teeth that crash exquisitely through his achilles tendon and tear it asunder. And with a sweet smile they luxuriate in repeating the same with the other leg, rendering him immobile, and somehow Sam can’t seem to find it in him to mind.

He’s beautiful. These colours overtaking him, he realises, they are Gabriel, they’re stars and nebulae uncontained in this vessel, leaks of celestial divinity granted him; he can’t possibly close his eyes, look away from the spark of cosmos shining. He’s been blessed. He’s been chosen. He’s been given.

He’s been taken.

No thought can exist over the roar of sensation. His shins are picked clean of skin and the tissue nibbled, his calves eaten bite by bite down to the bones which are licked and removed one at a time until an entire foot is removed from his body and consumed in pieces. Gabriel carelessly discards his toenails and takes his time breaking each delicate bone. Who knew there were so many fucking bones?

Is he still inside of him? Sam can hardly lift his head to confirm that they’re still connected, still carnal. Now he can hear again the sloppy sounds of drenched sex, can even barely differentiate the push and pull and hot wet burning sopping between his legs from the hot wet burning sopping everywhere else that Gabriel touches.

Or can he really tell? Is there a difference? He’s beginning to wonder if Gabriel isn’t just eating him from the inside out the same as from the outside in. The last crack of his left foot’s heel bone has him reeling, too dizzy to consider. There’s nothing to think about but everything his mind can’t quite grasp.

Barely a push and he flips Sam like a kitten, one long thigh between his knees that drools blood from the base of a femur peeking out. Hooking the other leg over his hip, he leans in, nuzzles a struggling throat, murmurs praises into his mealofferingsacrifice, “Baby, Samuel, so tight, so sweet for me.” 

There’s no telling if Gabriel is going faster or Sam is thinking slower, but it seems within moments that he raises one of Sam’s arms, kissing gleefully elbow to palm, lapping at the fine layer of sweat on his skin. His teeth dig into the beds of each stubby fingernail, finding purchase to wrench them out one by one to spit to the side and return to suckle at the bleeding wounds. He bites each fingertip and sucks till it stops bleeding, dislocates joints to crack bones and flesh in one bite and drink down red blood and red marrow at the same time.

And it’s the first time that it really, certainly occurs to him:  _ I am going to die. _ A mortal is watching the cosmos made compact nibble his hands into pieces and lap into his body to make intimate his flesh in ways that even God did not design it to be, and this will end his life. To be eaten by an archangel, is it akin to being rent apart by the unfathomable wills of a black hole? Will he be wiped from the universe, even the memories of him left behind devoured?

It’s the dread that makes the tipping point from pleasure to pain. He is hideously aware that the soaking wet where Gabriel is embedded into him is not only the fluid of their pleasure, but blood, and it has spread beneath him into a spill that colours his hips and has stained Gabriel’s groin a deep, streaky red; that each undulation sends a torturous spike stampeding through his synapses, drawing shudders and gasps that he can’t make vocal; that there is no lingering sensation as though his limbs remain, but that Gabriel gulps down every nerve and every sense of them with each bite, and his eyes glitter keenly with that knowledge; and, above all, that he is here to die. 

The predator, or perhaps the empyrean, beams at him, licking sticky lips and taking his time with a string of plump veins that Sam thinks he can recognise as his lymph vessels. Now it’s the fascia, and the tendons beneath, and the muscles to which they’re connected. He’s never seen so many nerves (and very few of his own, besides), and he doesn’t know why he’s relieved that Gabriel pinches off the end of his artery as if it will keep him alive a little longer when he is guaranteed to die soon anyhow and at this point would despair at the idea of living as mutilated as he’s become.

And now, again, to his body splain open to the thing which hovers longingly over it. The archangel bends to consume directly from it, shredding flesh and dermis, tearing tissue and chewing bone. Sam chokes on a sob he can’t quite push out, too aware of every lick on the discs of his spine, every snap of cartilage given in to teeth and appetite. This thing crouches so much less like a man, but he has never been one, and Sam has never known this so well.

Gabriel’s hands are filthy with gore, leaving a trail as he rises and with one, lovingly strokes Sam’s hair. His face is covered in viscera. Sam should puke.

“You’re scared,” Gabriel whispers. “It’s okay. I understand.”

He doesn’t understand. There’s no way that an archangel has felt the violation of his very ventricles. His heart doesn’t know the shape of fingers...or tongue...or sheer celestial lightsoundexplosionsacredgeometryeveninhissoulhewillnevercomprehendit.

The blood pools in the back of Sam’s throat, choking off any gasp of pain that might have risen. 

An archangel doesn’t understand, not the lightning bolts and the freezing of a nebulae, not the synapse zap of holiness invading crevices that have never seen the light. He is not Anubis, weighing the heart with a feather. He is so much more and nothing in him has gone unbathed in glory. 

Sam can’t move. The last artery snaps with a gush of blood dark with secrets and undreamt hymns. 

“I’ve got you.”

_ “I’ve got you.” _

One time, when their father was gone for an entire week and Sam was only six, he came down with the flu. Dean almost took him to the hospital but was half-convinced that if he did then their dad wouldn’t find them, but that isn’t the point. The point is that his body was hot and cold at the same time in a way it never was again, a scorching ice he shudders to remember.

And now it’s here again, but worse. A thousand times worse. A sun versus his childhood marble. 

Helel ben Shahar looks just as mutilated as he does, but there’s the difference in an archangel the size of Uranus and...him. He’s never been so encapsulated. He’s never been in so much agony it cancels out and he just hears the words that probably aren’t really words.

_ “What, Sam?” _ purrs the Adversary, stretching ribs made of divine dead stars.  _ “I told you. My dear, sweet Sam, there is nothing apart from me.” _

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to [Jak_the_ATAT](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jak_the_ATAT) and [FalCatrecon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalCatrecon/pseuds/FalCatrecon) for a BIG help with serious beta duties, a ton of notes on wordage and legibility, and support as I finished and polished this up. 
> 
> Art done by the sweet, talented [Dani!](https://lotrspnfangirl.tumblr.com) I'm truly lucky to have been able to work with her, especially given that she works in the medical field and did such a wonderful job with the gore. Beauty...grace...blood in your face... [Here’s](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20794034) her art masterpost!


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